


he doesn't sleep when you're gone

by nebulousviolet



Series: James Madison Survives College [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AND FINISHED IT, AND POSTED IT, College AU, Cussing, M/M, Modern AU, One-Shot, Sleep Deprivation, Vomit Mention, alcohol mention, and finished it and edited it, be proud i revisited something, but i'm sorry if it's not, for once, google translate french, i found this rotting in my docs, i hate my writing so, i think it's accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: James is sleep deprived. It's nothing he isn't used to, but if Alexander Hamilton gets his head out of his ass long enough to realise that James hadn't slept in a year, then perhaps it's becoming a problem.(or, the one where James isn't used to sleeping alone after Thomas leaves for France, Angelica makes her sisters spy on him, and somehow it works out in the end.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from in the heights. i edited this at midnight and wrote the majority of it two months ago so the quality may be terruble, but i'm posting it to look back on. (plus, i managed to stay in past tense for a whole 2000 words and that deserves an upload if nothing else)

“James,” Hamilton said, sounding too damn alert for this time in the morning. “About the papers, I was thinking- whoa, are you okay?”

“What?” James asked in genuine confusion. Of course he wasn’t okay - he was pretty sure he was getting the start of that nasty virus going around - but Alexander Hamilton seemed to be under the impression that people were made of solid titanium, and that sickness was merely an excuse to procrastinate. He must look like hell if Hamilton noticed something was up.  
“Dude,” Hamilton said, balancing his battered laptop in one hand (was that _duct tape_? James didn’t want to know), and gesturing to his eyes with the other. “You’ve got eyebags bigger than Lee’s ego. What the hell happened?”

Oh. If James was brutally honest, he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep, ever. It had gotten far worse when Thomas left for France, though. He wasn’t entirely sure why - only God knew why Thomas owned fuschia sheets, and James would be lying if he said he hadn’t relished changing them back to plain cotton the moment he’d left the country - but until now he’d thought only he noticed the massive eyebags that seemed to grow in size daily. If Alexander ‘I didn’t realise I spoke for six hours’ Hamilton had noticed, they were worse than he thought.

“I must be sick or something,” James said instead, shrugging noncommittally. “Wouldn’t make a change.”  
“Bullshit,” Hamilton exclaimed, a little (a lot) louder than James would have liked. “You’re sick every day, Madison. You don’t normally look like someone drew a massive crescent underneath your eye.”  
“Well, maybe it’s a new sickness,” James said, a little defensive. Jesus Christ. Alexander more than overstepped the line between inquisitive and pushy. What had seemed like a good characteristic back when they were forming their links with other colleges was fast becoming a major irritant.  
“Look, Hamilton, I’m fine,” James snapped when Alexander raised his eyebrows. It’d be easier to tell him the truth, but there was no way he was outing himself to get Hamilton to quit being a dick. Probably wouldn’t even work, anyway. “Just- what’s the word count so far?”

Luckily, Hamilton had some sense left in him, and quickly reabsorbed himself in statistics. Or maybe he just didn’t care that much. As long as he got off James’ case, he didn’t really care; Hamilton was a shitty friend even to the people he’d known since high school, so it wasn’t like he was over-invested in James’ wellbeing anyway.

*

“James? Wait up!”

James spun around and had to restrain a groan when he was greeted with Elizabeth Schuyler. She seemed sweet enough, and if her sister was good enough for Thomas to become friends with, then she herself couldn’t possibly be that bad. But she was also dating Alexander Hamilton, his frenemy, and right now he couldn’t be _bothered_ to deal with her.

“Eliza,” he greeted, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Thomas was the certified asshole in the relationship, not him. He wasn’t going to make any more enemies than he could help, and his friendship with Hamilton was rocky enough already. “What’s up?”  
“Well, I just wanted to ask,” she started, then flushed bright pink. James had to admit, she was kind of pretty. “Oh, this sounds so awful. Never mind.”  
“What is it?” James pressed, interest piqued. Schuyler was little more than a mutual acquaintance; if she was going out of her way to ask him something, she’d better say it.  
“Um, see,” she said, blushing. “I was wondering. About the bags under your eyes. How did they even-”  
“I’ll stop you right there,” James interrupted, narrowing eyes. “Eliza, we barely know each other. How on earth did you notice my eyebags?”  
“Well,” she said, looking at her feet and fiddling with her blue cardigan. “Alexander may have brought it up in passing conversation. So, uh, I kinda tagged along to debate last week - remember? - and um, yeah. Sorry.”  
“What is it with you lot?” James wondered aloud, sighing. “One minute you’re full of barely concealed mockery, and the next you’re becoming vigilante members of the World Health Organisation? The fuck?”  
“I have never mocked you,” she said quickly. “And neither has Alexander. Not sober.”  
“Not the point,” James muttered. “Look, I appreciate your sudden concern, but I am fine. Just a little tired. I’ll live.”

Schuyler bit her lip, and looked up.  
“Are you sure, because-”  
“Eliza,” he said slowly. “I. Am. Okay.”  
“Okay,” she said quietly, though clearly not convinced. “See you around, James.”

God, when did his life become so strange?

*

“Soooo,” Peggy slurred, clearly drunk (funny, since James was pretty sure this party didn’t even let freshmen attend, let alone get a sizeable amount of booze). “Why you so tired, man?”  
“What?” James asked, blinking. He’d been put on Peggy-watch when Eliza realised he didn’t drink, and he’d drifted off a little.  
“You seem burnt out, dude,” she elaborated, gesturing vaguely. “You workin’ overtime or somethin’?”  
“I thought you were meant to be an angry drunk,” James mumbled. “Eliza never said you’d interrogate me.”  
“Well, ‘s true!” Peggy said, affronted. “No offence, ‘ames, but you’re like...the walking dead.”  
“Oh my God,” James groaned. “Look! Booze! Drink! I’m too tired for this.”  
“Exactly!” Peggy yelled, pointing a finger. “Tired! You’re like twenty! What kind of bullshit is this?”  
“You’ll regret this when you’re sober,” he warned, because Peggy never swore or yelled when she was sober. She was the quiet one, in the shadows of her sisters and happy to be so. James wished she’d stay like that while under the influence of alcohol. He _liked_ Peggy.  
“And?” she asked, swinging her long ponytail seductively. “Sober me suckkkksss. You know, I’m real smart, like Ang? But Daddy said only one of us could go study abroad, and he says Betsy has to look after me.”  
She hiccuped, and she looked oddly young, hair tied up, cheeks flushed pink, eyes aglow.

“Well, you’re at Princeton, Pegs,” he reminded her. “Ivy League college, remember?”  
“Yeah, but-” she vomited all over herself, and James sighed.  
“Ugh,” she mumbled. “And you still look like shit, by the way.”

He scowled as he held her hair back. She was spewing chunks in his lap, and had the nerve to say he looked bad. At least _he_ had full control over his bodily functions.

*

“Babes,” Thomas said, snapping his fingers, the noise muffled due to the terrible call quality. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Angie said that her sisters mentioned you look pretty rough. Are you sick again?”

James was going to punch someone. Not Thomas, though. He might stay in France longer if he did, and James was dying to be able to sleep half-decently again.

But seriously, he couldn’t look that bad. He’d definitely looked worse, that was for sure. And since when did Peggy snitch? Eh, Thomas had probably only used the plural to cover for Eliza.  
Why was he thinking about this? God, he was a trainwreck. It wasn’t his fault he was barely sleeping three hours a night, though.  
“I’m fine,” he said with a shrug, although Thomas couldn’t actually see him. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You seriously have the Schuylers spying on me?”  
“Of course not,” Thomas drawled, though James detected an overpowering scent of bullshit. “Though tired is an understatement, if Angelica’s info is anything to go by…apparently you look like someone shoved stuffing underneath your eyeball?”  
“That’s an exaggeration!” he protested.  
“Then video call me, babes.”  
“I can’t!”  
“Why?”  
“Because-because I just can’t. I have a thesis to work on-”  
“James, it’s a good job I love you,” Thomas said, voice a little stern. “Because you’re such a big fat liar. Just let me see, babes. I guarantee I’ve seen you in a worse state.”  
“Ugh, fine,” James sighed, admitting defeat. No point arguing further when Thomas would get his way sooner or later. “You want me to just switch on video now?”  
“No time like the present,” his boyfriend responded cheerfully, and James scowled as he clicked the video button on.

Pause.

“Shit, babes,” Thomas said, voice heavy with shock. “I love you, but Angie was right. What the fuck?”  
“Look, I’m fine,” James huffed. “Tired. That’s all.”  
“You look like hell,” Thomas continued, ignoring him. “And- you’ve lost weight? How in the- I only video-called you two weeks ago!”  
“You’re overreacting.”  
“Well, how much have you been sleeping, if you’re just tired?” Thomas demanded, bossy. “Babes, be honest.”  
“Like…three hours a night?” Jamed admitted, wincing.

Thomas exhaled slowly.

“Three,” he repeated. “I see.”

“Oh God,” James muttered.

“Ey, Jean! Quand est le prochain vol au nouveau-jersey?” Thomas yelled.  
“Le soir!” someone unfamiliar responded after a minute, and James didn’t have to speak French to know what was happening.  
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.  
“See you tomorrow, babes,” Thomas announced, and James just groaned.

Seriously. He wasn’t going to stop Thomas from flying over, but his motive was, well, stupid. Eyebags were not a valid reason for someone to blow hundreds of dollars on a trip that would last a couple of days, maximum. Not for the first time, James considered calling Thomas’ mom and begging her to cut him off from the family bank account.

(Although for some reason, he himself had a bank card linked directly to the Jefferson fortune. He never used it, of course, but it was there.)

R.I.P his peaceful study break.

*

**_beep._ **

“James, baby! I’ve just landed. Look, babes, I’ll call you when I’m closer to campus. See ya soon, love you.”

James sipped his coffee with an abstract sense of despair as he mourned his final minutes of silence. Or, that’s what he told himself. Secretly, he was thrilled to be seeing Thomas again, and despite his annoyance he knew he’d forgive his boyfriend in approximately two seconds flat.

As exhausted as he was, though, James was still confused over the whole thing. Thomas had been right when he’d said he’d seen him in a worse state; he’d seen him with bruises in places that should not bruise and he’d seen the now-faded array of scars on his thighs flow with blood. These were just eyebags, and so what if he’d lost a little weight? Ugh, this was so confusing.

As if on cue, someone knocked at the door.  
“It’s me!”  
“Didn’t you say you were gonna call me?” James asked, swinging the door open, and Thomas grinned cockily at him.

Momentarily, he forgot how to breathe. Damn, France had been good to Thomas. He hadn’t been able to see it before - the garbled quality of their skype calls made his face often look like a blurred, pixellated mess - but he’d gained muscle, his skin had cleared and even his smile was brighter.

(Or maybe that was just the effect his slightly tanned, darker skin in contrast. Either way, Thomas looked like some fucking god and it was unfair.)

“That would ruin the surprise,” Thomas said lightly, and he leaned over to kiss James’ cheek. “Anyway, let me in.”

He stepped aside, and his boyfriend dragged three suitcases behind him with little effort. James eyed them warily.  
“Exactly how long are you planning on staying?” he asked uncertainly. Thomas simply waved a hand airily, and shrugged.  
“However long I need and slash or want to,” he replied simply, and then took a proper, long hard look at him.

“You look like shit, babes,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Come on, what’s bugging you?”

They sat down together on their threadbare sofa, and James leaned into the crook of Thomas’ shoulder with a sigh.  
“I can’t sleep,” he admitted. “I mean, I told you that yesterday, but it’s really bad. At this point I’m running on about an hour to two hours nightly, with maybe a half hour nap at midday, and determination with a sizeable portion of caffeine. It’s pretty unhealthy, I know, but I can’t physically sleep, or if I can, I get woken up by the slightest thing.”

Thomas frowned deeply, and ran his fingers through James’ hair slowly.  
“That sounds more than just bad,” he pointed out. “That sounds downright dangerous, baby. This has just been since I left for France, right?”  
“Yeah,” James responded, albeit reluctantly. He closed his eyes, and made a slight humming sound as his boyfriend continued to play with his hair distractedly. This was nice. He could almost fall asleep like this, with Thomas’ arm securely locked around his waist, almost like a promise.  
“Interesting,” the other man noted, and James wondered if he was smiling, but he found it to be too much effort to reopen his eyelids at that point, and didn’t bother pursuing the thought any further. “You know, Jamesy, you haven’t really struggled with sleep problems for a while.”  
“Mmhmm,” James mumbled, jaw feeling heavy, as he slowly succumbed to sleep. He missed Thomas calling him that, even if it was a stupid nickname, worse than his downright corny pet names. (Because while ‘babes’ was simply erring on the slightly possessive side, ‘baby’ made it sound like they were in some weird dom/sub relationship or something. Still, Thomas was already phasing in the use of ‘darling’, so perhaps his taste wasn’t so bad after all.)  
“I mean, you’ve never had this kind of trouble since, well…” Thomas’ voice was fading out now, as James slipped into unconsciousness. He barely heard the latter end of his sentence. “Since we moved in together, I should think. How curious.”

 _Motherfucker_.

The word had just enough time to register in his brain, before he fell asleep entirely.

*

He woke up the next morning in his bed, the sheets changed back to garish fuschia silk, Thomas’ arm slung over him loosely.

 _Ugh_. He was never going to live this down.

(But at least he had Thomas, for a few days perhaps, and he knew deep down that that was enough, somehow.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> aye if you liked this, please please please comment and/or give kudos!! it means so much to me lol pls im desperate anyway follow me on tumblr at cue-the-food for more jeffmads ramblings


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